In December, Tromsø, 2:40 p.m.

The sky had already gone dark.

For the first time, Cheng Yuqing truly understood that “no daylight” was not merely a romantic description.

The sun hid below the horizon; the city lay under thick snow. Ships docked at the harbor glowed with rows of yellow lights. Distant mountains were only deep-blue silhouettes; the sea surface was churned fine by the wind.

She pulled her scarf up, leaving only her eyes exposed.

Her phone showed minus nine degrees.

What time is it in Taipei now?

She calculated in her head.

9:40 p.m.

Chen Yiheng should have finished work.

She took out her phone and tapped his name.

The last message was from thirteen hours ago.

“I’m heading out. Remember to eat breakfast.”

Below it was the sticker she had drowsily replied with that morning.

Then, nothing.

She stared at the chat box for a few seconds, typed “What are you doing?”

Thought for a moment, then deleted it.

Typed again:

“It’s so cold today.”

Deleted it again.

In the end she sent nothing.

She tucked her phone back into her pocket and continued toward the dorm.

They hadn’t argued.

Neither of them had changed.

It was simply that long-distance love, after the fifth month, began to show its true face.

Not the movie version of saying “I love you” across a screen.

But her waking up when he had already been working half the day; her finally getting off work when he was about to shower and sleep.

It was her being sick at night while he could only ask from over seven thousand kilometers away whether she had taken medicine.

It was the day he had trouble at work, sitting alone downstairs smoking; she saw the message he left at dawn only after waking the next day:

“It’s fine. Don’t worry.”

They were clearly still together.

Yet sometimes it felt as if they lived in two different worlds.

“Cheng!”

A colleague called from behind.

Yuqing turned around.

“Want to go see the aurora tonight?”

She thought for a moment and shook her head.

“No thanks, I have the early shift tomorrow.”

“You always say early shift.”

“I’m old.”

“Thirty-one is old?”

She smiled and waved goodbye.

When she reached the harbor, the wind suddenly stopped.

Without warning.

The wind that had been howling across the sea the moment before fell silent.

Yuqing halted.

The world seemed muted by someone.

No snow fell.

The sea made no sound.

Standing in the winter night of a foreign country, she suddenly missed someone very, very much.

“Chen Yiheng.”

She called his name softly.

Of course no one answered.

She lowered her head and smiled.

How silly.

She suddenly wanted to know.

This second—are you okay?

*

Taipei, 9:41 p.m.

Chen Yiheng stood in front of the convenience-store microwave.

“Sir, your bento is ready.”

“Thank you.”

He took the bento; his phone suddenly vibrated.

Not Yuqing.

Company group chat.

His disappointment was so obvious even he found it funny.

Thirty-four years old.

Dating like a high-school student.

Leaving the store, he did not go straight home. Instead he found a chair under the arcade and sat down.

Taipei had just rained.

Streetlights reflected on the asphalt; scooters passed one after another.

He opened his phone.

The pinned contact was still her.

Tapped in.

The last thing was the rabbit sticker she sent that morning, hugging a pillow while asleep.

He stared at it for a while.

Fingers slowly typed:

“Asleep yet?”

Paused.

Deleted it.

It was almost 3 p.m. her time.

Why would she be asleep.

He typed again:

“How’s today?”

Still did not send.

Chen Yiheng leaned back against the chair.

Suddenly remembered last winter, before they were separated by distance.

Yuqing hated the cold the most.

At twelve degrees she would dare to wear a down jacket.

She always tucked her hands into his coat pockets and declared righteously, “Let me warm them for a bit.”

He always complained her hands were freezing.

Now that woman who was terrified of cold had gone to the Arctic Circle.

Thinking of this, he smiled.

Then, for no reason, he suddenly missed her very much.

Not the habitual kind of missing.

But a very clear, very strong thought.

Wanted to know where she was right now.

Whether she had eaten properly.

Whether she had forgotten her gloves again.

Whether she was alone.

This second—was she okay?

He pressed send.

“Suddenly miss you a lot.”

*

The phone vibrated in her pocket.

Yuqing took it out.

When she saw those five characters, she stood frozen for a long time.

The time was 2:41 p.m.

She looked up.

The wind was still still.

The next second, she smiled.

Smiling, her eyes turned red.

She replied:

“You know what?”

“?”

“I was just thinking about you too.”

He replied quickly:

“Really?”

“Really.”

“How much?”

She laughed out loud.

“Don’t push your luck.”

“So you miss me a lot.”

“You’re annoying.”

“Mm.”

After a pause.

He sent another line.

“But I’m really happy.”

Yuqing looked at those words; her nose suddenly stung.

So the world really could be huge.

Huge enough that seven hours, Asia and Europe, countless cities and seas lay between them.

Yet the world could occasionally be very small.

Small enough that in a certain second she thought of him by the sea in the Arctic Circle.

And he, at the same moment in Taipei, thought of her.

*

In the eighth month of long distance, they had their first big fight.

Not over anything major.

Yuqing had worked ten hours straight and returned to the dorm exhausted.

Yiheng had just had his proposal rejected by his supervisor that day.

The video call had barely lasted five minutes before they argued over “You weren’t listening at all.”

Finally Yuqing said with red eyes:

“Forget it.”

He was silent.

“It’s always ‘forget it.’”

“Then what? What can we do right now?”

Once those words left her mouth, both fell quiet.

Yuqing regretted it.

But neither apologized.

The call ended.

That night she lay in bed, unable to sleep.

At four in the morning, snow began to fall outside the window.

She opened her phone.

No messages.

For the first time she wondered whether they could really last a year.

It wasn’t that they didn’t love each other.

Sometimes it was precisely because they loved too much that they could not bear being unable to hold each other.

When she was angry, he could not reach her.

When he was sad, she could not sit beside him.

A single text with the wrong tone could make two people who loved each other guess at each other across seven thousand kilometers.

She buried her face in the pillow.

Her phone suddenly lit up.

Chen Yiheng.

Only one line.

“Did you just fall asleep?”

She did not reply.

A few minutes later.

“Sorry.”

After another while.

“Today was actually really bad for me too.”

She stared at the screen.

“The proposal got rejected; the supervisor scolded me all afternoon.”

“I wanted to tell you, but you looked so tired, so I didn’t.”

“Then you asked if I was listening, and I got angry.”

The last message appeared after a long pause.

“It’s not that I don’t care about you.”

Yuqing sat up.

Tears suddenly fell.

She typed:

“I’m sorry too.”

He read it instantly.

She continued writing.

“A patient threw up all over me today; when I went to wash my clothes the washing machine broke.”

From the other side:

“……”

“Are you laughing?”

“No.”

“You’re obviously laughing.”

“A little.”

She smiled too.

Tears still on her face.

The phone suddenly rang.

She answered.

“What?”

“Just checking on you.”

“I look terrible.”

“I know.”

“Chen Yiheng!”

He finally laughed out loud.

That night they did not solve the long-distance problem.

The time difference still existed.

The distance had not shrunk by a single kilometer.

Yet Yuqing suddenly understood.

Being on the same wavelength did not mean never arguing.

It meant still being willing, after arguing, to tell each other what was truly in their hearts.

*

In the final month before the year was up, Yuqing saw the aurora.

No warning.

That evening she had only stepped out to take out the trash.

Looking up, faint green light floated across the sky.

She froze for a few seconds, then grabbed her phone and ran outside without even changing her coat.

The green light bands grew clearer.

Rising behind the mountains, stretching across the entire sky.

She stood in the snow, hands aching from the cold.

Her first thought was not to take a photo.

But to call him.

The phone rang for a long time.

No answer.

She remembered.

It was 3 a.m. in Taipei.

“Idiot.”

She muttered.

She set her phone on the snow and took a selfie with the aurora.

Sent it to him.

After thinking, she left a voice message as well.

“Chen Yiheng.”

“You’re probably asleep right now.”

“I saw the aurora.”

She looked up.

The sky was like a huge green silk, slowly flowing in the night.

She suddenly smiled.

“It’s really beautiful.”

Paused for a few seconds.

“But I still want to go home and see you more.”

*

Taipei, 7:12 a.m.

Chen Yiheng woke up and saw the photo.

In it her nose was bright red from the cold, her hair a mess, yet behind her stretched the entire aurora.

He zoomed in on the photo.

Looked at it for a long time.

Then played the voice message.

When he heard the last sentence, he did not reply.

He simply saved the photo to his phone.

Set it as wallpaper.

*

Three weeks later.

Taoyuan Airport.

The flight was delayed three hours and twenty-seven minutes.

Chen Yiheng waited from four in the afternoon until evening.

Drank two cups of coffee.

Phone battery at eighteen percent.

The arrival-hall doors opened again and again.

Until 7:56 p.m.

He finally saw her.

Cheng Yuqing wore a black coat, pushing two huge suitcases; her hair was a little longer than when she left Taiwan.

She saw him too.

The two of them stood across the crowd.

No movie-style running.

She only paused for a second.

Then smiled.

Chen Yiheng walked over.

“Did you lose weight?”

Her first words were a complaint.

“You’ve gained weight.”

“No I haven’t.”

“Your face.”

“Cheng Yuqing.”

She smiled and pushed one suitcase toward him.

“Here.”

“Bossing me around the moment you’re back?”

“Isn’t that what boyfriends are for?”

He took the luggage.

After a few steps he realized she was not following.

Turned around.

Yuqing was still standing there watching him.

“What’s wrong?”

She suddenly asked:

“Chen Yiheng.”

“Hm?”

“This second—are you okay?”

He froze for a moment.

Airport announcements came from above.

People hurried past; a child cried; someone embraced, someone said goodbye.

The world was still noisy.

Yet he suddenly remembered that night eight months ago.

Taipei had just rained.

He sat outside the convenience store, missing her in the Arctic Circle for no reason.

And in the same second, she stood by the harbor in Tromsø, also thinking of him.

So loving someone was probably like this.

Not needing to be together every second.

Not needing every longing to be heard.

But believing that even when the world placed them very, very far apart, in some moment he did not know, that person had also thought of him.

Chen Yiheng let go of the suitcase.

Walked back to her.

Reached out and hugged her.

This time, not across a screen.

Not across seven hours.

Not across seven thousand kilometers.

Yuqing leaned against his chest and heard a real heartbeat.

Once.

Again.

She closed her eyes.

“So?”

“What?”

“I asked if you’re okay.”

He lowered his head and laughed softly by her ear.

“Very okay.”

“Only very okay?”

His arms tightened.

“Because this second, you’re here.”

She smiled.

“What about the next second?”

“We’ll talk about the next second then.”

“And the second after that?”

“Cheng Yuqing.”

“Hm?”

He took her hand.

“You have plenty of seconds to ask slowly.”

The airport automatic doors opened again.

A cool breeze blew in.

She instinctively shrank her neck and slipped her cold hand into his coat pocket.

Just like a year ago.

Chen Yiheng glanced down.

“Hands still this cold.”

“Let me warm them for a bit.”

“For how long?”

She thought for a moment.

Held his hand.

“Just this second.”

Then the next second.

And the one after.

As for what would happen much later, neither of them knew.

But at least right now, they were in the same city, the same night, the same moment.

And this second, he was okay.

She was okay too.

They both knew it.

#OneSongOneStory#ShortStory#LoveStory#Relationships

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